


The Great Unknown

by WhoCaresAboutANameAnyway



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoCaresAboutANameAnyway/pseuds/WhoCaresAboutANameAnyway
Summary: For Lemony,I had to choose between you or the greater goodI did what was right, not what I wanted.Beatrice





	The Great Unknown

He feels safe. Which is why a vexatious feeling of disgust surges deep into his gut. If something has taught him his many years on the lam is that feeling safe often leads to overconfidence, and hence to death.

 

He’s in a cozy room. Every inch of the walls are covered in shelves containing rows and rows of books, but he can’t read a single title. A library it seems, and like all libraries it has a warm glow, like as if a fire was burning slowly but without the unease of the shadows reflected on the walls. How could light and darkness fight dominance when there was no fire to give them birth.

 

The entire room was an oxymoron. A word which here means...

 

“Hello, my love.” Says Beatrice behind him. And then it doesn’t matter anymore what an oxymoron is because she said it as if she were alive. She says it softly, so as to not startled him, like as if she didn’t know he walked many times through the calcined shell of the remains of her home. Like as if she thought that he didn’t know for a fact that she was dead.

 

“Is this real?” Lemony asks, feeling for the first time as if the words were failing him. He doesn’t turn around. He’s afraid she’ll disappear and he will go back to forgetting what her voice was like.

 

“We’re here now, together. Shouldn’t that be all that matters?” She says. And this time she sounds closer. She feels closer. He feels a sob lodged in his throat. He means that figuratively but it feels rawly literal. He feels Beatrice’s warm arms sneaking from behind, holding onto him tightly. _God she feels so alive._

 

He turns around almost violently. He feels like he doesn’t have control over his movements. He feels clumsy. He feels a visceral fear descending down his throat towards his stomach. It sets like a cold dead weight there. _What if he loses_ Beatrice _just after he got her back?_

 

He opens his eyes and looks down. _When did he close his eyes?_ He wonders, but it doesn’t matter because he sees it then. Her feet. Small and delicate. Her toes are curled like they used to be on those rare lazy days where the world wasn’t upon their shoulders and they could just be themselves and spend the day in bed.

 

His eyes go up sliding through her satin dress. The one she wore the last time he saw her. The one he lost sleep over countless of times, trying to remember the veiny filigrees detailing her dress. They were like a spiderweb of patterns that trapped him to her. Like a maze he didn’t want to escape. The dresss he so desperately loved just because it was hers.

 

Up and up his eyes go. Her neck, as delicate as a swan’s, with smooth skin he’s dying to taste. To caress. To kiss. To worship.

 

And there she is. This must be real, because his memory could never have paid her rendition. She’s the most extraordinary being he’s ever laid eyes on. But it’s her eyes what make him exhale all his air, as if he’d being holding his breath all these years and she’s the first mouthful of fresh air he’s got.

 

He wraps his arms around and her, and he has the most Voraciously Fervent Desire to seize her and enclose tight enough until he feels that she’s real. Until he feels her heartbeat reverberate against his chest. Instead he holds her like as if she was made from the most ephemeral glass. He holds her like he lost her and was afraid she’ll be gone again.

 

But Beatrice, who’s always been the kind of magic that seems unreal, enfolds him into her arms. Like as if she never wanted to let go. Like she loved him all those years ago.

 

He shudders and heaves from breath against her frame. She feels warm, and she smells like he forgot she did. Like the love of his life. She feels so real. _Real. Real. Real._

  
“Stay please,” one of the two says while a clock ticks vociferously fast in the distance, much in the same fashion as it did in the lobby of hotel Denoument. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._


End file.
